


We Can’t Have It All

by WriterOnAMission



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Aftercare, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Asphyxiation, Biting, Dark, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Mild Kink, Non-Consensual, Obsession, Orgasm Denial, Pain, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rape, Scheming, Slow Burn, Some Fluff, Stalking, Therapy, Trauma, Vaginal Fingering, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 05:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20077273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterOnAMission/pseuds/WriterOnAMission
Summary: Moving to a new city, you know no one. New therapist, new job, new boss. Slowly, you start to become comfortable with a few select people and things seem to be working out for you for once. However, everything starts to go catastrophically wrong the longer you are withhim.But, you can't stay away. He's got a story in his eyes justbeggingto be told.





	We Can’t Have It All

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So, this chapter you are about to read has taken me two months to write. Yes, two months. A lot of bad stuff has gone on in my life and while it does not relate to what this story will be about necessarily, it helps that I can write about a darker story. 
> 
> Which reminds me... please, for the love of all things holy in this world, **mind the tags**. Also, there are two _very_ important terms (as I interpret them for this story) I want to explain for you before you dive into this Pandora’s box of sin:
> 
> **Romanticize:** to resent details, incidents, or people in a romantic way (more often when they shouldn’t be)  
**Grooming** or **“Love Bombing”:** overwhelming someone with adoration and affection in a narcissistic, manipulating manner, in order to build an emotion connection for the purpose of sexual exploitation.
> 
> As I mentioned, this will be a bit of a dark story, so this is your warning! :) I promise you will not hurt my feelings if you turn back. I just want to make sure everyone feels safe and comfortable. Thank you! ♥

“I think you’re going to like him.”

Glancing outside the window, like you had done every Friday morning for the past few years, you watched joggers disappear into the morning fog. Although you never knew where they were doing or anything about them, it helped remaining intently focused on one thing. One thing—or anything—that wasn’t _the _thing.

Today was your last session with your current therapist, and you were having a hard time. For the last couple of years, she had been the only one allowed into the deep abyss of your mind. And, even though _you _were moving, you couldn’t cast aside the feeling of _she _being the one to cast you away.

“_Think_?” You scrutinized, pulling your lips into a taut frown.

“I _know_.” She corrected, insistently. “He’s wicked smart _and_ a worthy challenger for your unrequited sass.”

Listening to her bring a lightness to the change, you sink farther into the white, overstuffed chair. It felt strong against the weakness creeping out of you. Pulling your knees closer to your chest, you tightly wrap your arms around them.

So many—_too many_—questions begin to consume your mind. What if this new therapist didn’t like you? What if he _wasn’t_ as accommodating? What if he thought you were a fuck-up? _What if_ it’s **_all_** for nothing? You started counting in your head when you heard a softer voice chime in.

“Focus on your socks.”

_Fuck the socks—Breathe in, wiggle your toes, **feel **your socks, breathe out your nose._

_Well, shit._

With apprehensive eyes you turned to her. Light brown hair hugged the sides her oval face, impeccably framing her beaming, smug grin. Your glare was posthaste. It had taken you half the time it normally did when you were working through an episode of anxiety.

While a part of you was hesitant to believe in her conviction of your victory, the other part was holding out a fragment of hope she was right. Frankly, you _needed _her to be. You couldn’t stay in the nest forever. The wind was blowing, and a part of you knew that if you’d only open your wings, you’d fly. 

This move was going to be a fresh start for your writing career; moving to a bustling city where opportunity favored the brave. The only downfall was that it was far from home and comfort. However, that is what these sessions were for. To get into a better mindset and out into the world—make a name for yourself, _damn it_!

Or… so you tried to convince yourself when you decided upon this monu_mental _leap into the unknown.

Your therapist told you to venture out once you got settled. Her suggestions were to go see a movie, have a picnic at a park, or to sign up for one of those **singles’** activity groups. That it’d be _fun_. Yes, that is what you recall her saying…**_verbatim_**.

Fortunately, you had secured a job as a local journalist. In fact, your new boss was able to rent you a small apartment above the building where you’d be working. He’d said it wasn’t much, but it was clean.

“So, how do you know him?” Your voice remained low as you gave her the benefit of the doubt. If she trusted this therapist to help you, then you owed it not only to her, but yourself to give him a chance.

“Psychology conference a few years back. He’s very well known.” From your peripheral, you watch as she slightly lifts up from her chair to grab a well decorated slip of paper off her desk. “Here’s all his information. I’ve already followed up with him. He is expecting you next Friday, at nine a.m.—_sharp_!”

You don’t need to look at her to sense she means it. Last thing you want to do is give this new therapist a bad impression of you. Especially when he’s doing _you _the favor. Apparently, due to his extensive patient list, he had made an exception because of who your current therapist was. _How sweet_! You keep it to yourself but having the appointment on your usual day at your usual time provides a temporary solace to your havoc-wrecking mind. 

In the upper right-hand corner of the paper is a picture of a professionally dressed man. Even though it’s in black and white, he seems genuine enough. He’s alarmingly handsome, too. As soon as the heat rises to your cheeks it is soon cast away when you read his rather extensive specialties—to which you note a lot of yours are included. Some of them however, pique your interest. The paper also includes where he went to school, his degrees, and a cliché ‘know more about me’ section. He doesn’t appear too threatening. Though the “relaxing at home” for fun bit doesn’t elicit any red flags.

Unsure as to whether it’s all in your head or you feel a sliver of determination to succeed, you give her an accommodating nod. Besides, you are an adult and should start acting like one.

_But that’s another fucking lie you try to convince yourself of. _

* * *

The plane ride was complete and utter torture. Between the expected crying baby directly behind you, the person in the front took the cake. With limited funds, you didn’t dare indulge and book first class. And, asking your parents for any assistance was entirely out of the question. They couldn’t be bothered. Though, that fucking mistake would _not_ be made again. The expense would be well worth it. Worth it from the man practically _lying_ in your lap for the duration of the flight. Much to his sick dismay, you preferred your legs close to your chest anyway.

Too self-conscious about blasting your music, you begrudgingly suffered with a lower volume. Skin itching with anticipation of how to proceed with this situation, the uneasiness welling like boiling water in the pit of your stomach did not go unnoticed. The saving grace was that you had landed an aisle seat. The window seat would have meant disaster. If you had gotten trapped in the middle, you’d convinced yourself you’d have passed out from the sheer claustrophobia. Being squished in between two people, whom you didn’t know was _not _on your list of ideas for fun.

The couple occupying your neighboring seats did the complaining for you to the uncharacteristically enthusiastic flight attendant who had bent down to your eye level. Waving your hands frantically in the air, you insist all is fine while ripping the ear buds from your ears. There’s no need to make a bigger scene you protest, while contorting your neck to get her face as far away from yours as possible without snapping it.

She’s not subtle about the issue. In fact, she stands right next to you and mawkishly asks the man in front of you to lift his chair slightly. As if she has something better to do with her time. Grumbling, he obliges. You want to get angry, but all your mind can think about are the other passengers looking at you, even if they aren’t, and how they are whispering secrets about you. Their hushed judgements circle the air around you. 

Now, your blood is scorching from the embarrassment. You thought for sure everyone could see the steam rising through your jacket. Except, all the flight attendant’s eyes can focus on is the glittery, jelly-filled stress ball bulging through your ghost-white knuckles, that your nails are about to pop. Her facial features falter for a mere second before she perks back up.

“Anything _else _I can help you with?”

The smile you muster doesn’t show all of your appreciation, but it’s enough for the flight attendant to scurry away complacently. She’s probably thanking her lucky stars she didn’t have to clean up the very real mess you almost made from your stress ball.

Just how in the _hell _are you supposed to wait until Friday now? Maybe your new shrink would take pity on you and agree to an earlier meeting? Crying hysterically to your old therapist _might _do the trick. Then again, all it would take would for her to say you wanted this change for your skin to crack, and your existence to crumble in on itself before you eventually evaporated—_and you would_—into nothing at her _absolutely _warranted remark.

_Fuck. _ **Squeeze. **

** _Double _ ** _fuck. **Squeeze, squeeze. **_

To your surprise—and relief—getting off the plane was easy. Or, it might have been because you waited for everyone else to scramble over one another, arbitrarily flinging their bags into people as they squished into a single file line. The tattle-telling neighbors bid you farewell as they disappeared into the front cabin.

Once it was declared safe, you stuffed your belongings into your bag and cautiously made your exit. Looking around, you were not the only one who though it a good idea to wait out the crowd. A handful of others were taking their time gathering their belongings and making their way to the front.

The flight attendant that had helped you earlier was waiting at the exit. Her smile didn’t waver as she said her goodbyes to you. In fact, she actually asked you how the rest of your flight was. It made you excruciatingly uncomfortable because you had to move to the side in order to let the last few passengers move past you. But because society has deemed it rude acting as if you don’t hear someone speaking to you, you grin and bear the chagrin.

“Good. Glad to be off. Thanks for helping earlier.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so obligatory. She didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for flying with us today.”

You gave her an awkward nod, heaving your bag strap closer to you. Seeing the bright light of the outside world bleeding into the ramp, you feel your heart swell. You were back on land. No more flying. No more crowded plane. And, _hopefully, _no more assholes making you crawl back into your shell. It was a daunting chore to get out once you were in.

Every ounce of your being could be felt shifting back into place as you let out a contented sigh. As you made your way to the baggage claim, you were able to get a spectacular view of the new city you would be frequenting for your new job. The amber glow was a nice divergence against the silhouetted buildings. You wished you had some of your family around what with being in a new, unfamiliar place. Unfortunately, it **was** better this way.

You and your _old _therapist had prepared you for this.

_Besides, what **could **go wrong? _

Turns out, you weren’t walking quick enough for the person behind you. As they shoved past you, you hit your arm against the **_automatically _**_opening_ door. Stricken with panic, all you could do was watch him strut away, mouth hanging open in shock at his conduct; even as your arm remained slack and pulsing. Staying the ever-silent lamb you were as his rapacious wolf-like eyes glanced back at you, you didn’t know whether to feel fortunate or offended at his disgust. Like you weren’t good enough to satiate his appetite; a pitiful rabbit, when he wanted the challenge of a brazen bison.

Slowly, you walked toward the loading area, never taking your eyes from him. The mystery man was walking briskly towards a blacked-out vehicle. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He swiftly opened the door. But, before he got inside, he turned back to face you and raised an eyebrow. It only lasted _seconds_, but that didn’t stop your body from going rigid and your blood turning cold.

Once he was inside, the vehicle abruptly sped off. In that moment as you stood there, all alone, you felt your eyes begin to sting. Your shell was looking very appealing right now. The creeping, tingling itch to curl up into a ball and hide under stratums of blankets was suffocating.

_Br—breathe in, wig—wiggle your toes, **feel **your socks, breathe out your no—nose._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry the the plethora of italicized and bolded words. I want you to **feel, think, understand** reader. I feel it gives reader a voice. ♥


End file.
